Page 76 of Theirs to Hunt (Girls Like Us #1)

Chapter seventy-six

Bobbie shows up in cutoff shorts, a tank top, and a high ponytail, not dressed to impress, just to make it clear she's not here for anyone’s bullshit. She drops a bag of buns on the kitchen island, tosses a six-pack in the fridge, and says, "So this is where your mystery dick lives."

"Girl, it's dicks. Plural," I correct. "But you have got to see this before they get home." I grab her hand and drag her off to start the grand tour. "If we hustle, we can see it all before they walk in and ruin the surprise."

She whistles at the closet, raises an eyebrow at the kitchen, and flat-out laughs when she sees the backyard.

"Jesus. It’s a murder fairy tale back here."

"Right? I think they tried to blend Southern gothic with cartel compound."

We throw together the most half-assed cookout imaginable. Cheap hot do gs. Prepackaged chips. Potato salad that's probably more mayonnaise than vegetable. Bobbie brought an apron that says Saving Pussies and Grilling Dogs , and I just about lose my shit.

By the time the guys show up, the air smells like smoke and sabotage.

Grayson arrives first, button-up open at the throat, sleeves rolled, the usual looks-like-danger-and-discipline thing going on.

Brooks trails behind him, shirtless and barefoot, ready to hit the pool in his board shorts.

Bobbie dabs at my chin and rolls her eyes at me.

Bitch. I wasn’t technically drooling. But I smirk when I can return the favor, because her man is yum .

Devon shows up last. Sunglasses on. Hawaiian shirt open. Also in board shorts. And seriously, how is a woman supposed to function?

I pick up a paper towel and hand it to her. "You might want to wipe."

She growls and bats at me as I laugh and dart away, then turn to face our men.

There's a moment. Just one beat too long. They all stand there, trying to read the fine print behind our eyes.

They pause when they see the setup.

Hesitantly, Brooks comments, "We would've cooked, you know."

Bobbie shrugs. "We didn’t want to distract you. Figured you already had enough going on."

Grayson eyes me. "Just hot dogs?"

I keep my face neutral. "Thought we’d keep it simple. Seems like things have been weighing on you. Or maybe that’s your conscience."

Devon cra cks open a beer. "This feels like a trap."

I hand him a bun without looking away. "Only if you lie."

Bobbie doesn’t miss a beat.

"So… club guy. The one who tried to dry hump the way a chihuahua goes after their plushie?"

"Funny," I say. "Haven’t seen him around."

Brooks speaks up. "You don’t need to worry about him."

Bobbie grins. "Oh, honey. We’re not worried. We’re curious."

I glance between them. "Because some very specific rumors are going around. Not exactly PG-rated ones."

Devon doesn’t answer. Just drinks.

Brooks starts to say something when the back of Devon's hand thumps his chest, a beer pressed into it. Brooks takes the beer, swigs once, and swallows whatever he was going to say.

Grayson’s voice comes low. Cold. "He’s not a problem anymore."

I tilt my head. "That sounds like confirmation wrapped in a euphemism."

Nobody denies it.

Brooks coughs into his beer. Devon snorts. Grayson doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t look away either. He just watches me. And whatever he's thinking, he keeps it to himself.